Starstruck
by DinoDina
Summary: Percy and Oliver are trying to make it as space pirates... the problem: neither one of them is exactly space pirate material. Perciver AU. Oneshot written for QLFC, now with a semi-but-not-really sequel: Carry On.


**Team:** Wigtown Wanderers  
 **Position:** Beater 2  
 **Prompt:** Write an AU you've never written before  
 **Additional Prompts:** 1\. (dialogue) "Your silence scares me.", 11. (dialogue) "It's like the blind leading the blind."  
 **Words:** 2359

 **Thanks to Aya for betaing!**

The sleek hull of the ship wasn't deceiving: it was old, yes, otherwise they never could have afforded it, but the soft curve of the metal continued around the sides, top, and back of the ship, the door and cargo entrance blending into it seamlessly. Though an outdated model, it would be easy to maneuver, which Percy smiled at: the last spaceship he'd flown had been a one-man vehicle not built for long journeys. He knew the ship in theory—he knew most things in theory—but a beginner's ship was the best bet.

He looked at Oliver as he approached. "How much?"

"Everything."

Percy swallowed. "I hope you mean that's how much she's going to mean to us, _not_ how much she cost." But he knew that it was a futile hope, and sighed. "Are we ready to leave? The less time we spend here, the cheaper."

"Yeah, we're all set." Oliver held out what looked like a bulky bracelet; he was wearing a similar one on his left wrist. "Here. it's the commands for the ship. Just press this button—yeah—and we can load in our stuff."

Percy watched as the cargo door levered open, but didn't waste time looking inside—it was dark, he noticed, so they'd need more energy packs to light it—and fetched their 'stuff': clothes, food, weapons.

"License all set?" he asked, suddenly remembering.

Oliver snorted. "What license? We're—" he looked around and lowered his voice "—space pirates, remember?" But at Percy's severe look, he nodded. "It's right here."

"Good." He looked at the piloting strap. "This one for the door?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go before my mum finds us."

He let Oliver take the pilot's seat. It was grey and slightly shapeless, with a multistrap belt that fastened in three places, and button controls on the armrests. There was a wheel and joystick controllers on the panel in front of him, and more buttons under a large window that saw out onto the landing pad.

Percy's seat was the same, though with different controls, and he wasn't quite sure how to sit down. He put his briefcase down first at the foot of his chair, where it slotted into a rectangular cell—it had all the spaceship manuals, so he hoped it wouldn't be hard to reach if necessary.

"Ready?"

"Almost." Percy looked around. It would be too late to return if they had forgotten something—it was too late to return _now_. "Yes."

Percy leaned forward to look at the disappearing planet beneath them. England. England with its wide lakes and greed fields; with the heavy atmosphere of rain and smog obscuring the view. London was under them, with its spaceports and skyscrapers; with the Ministry where Percy had worked nestled deep within the city.

Miles away, Percy's mother was cooking lunch: she was getting ready to check up on the whereabouts of her children, as she always did. In London, the Ministry was ignoring his letter of resignation, leaving it to languish in an in-tray. In space, nestled in a shapeless grey chair with Oliver Wood by his side, Percy Weasley sighed.

.oOo.

Two days later, it was evident that neither Percy nor Oliver was made to be a pirate. They hadn't even tried to raid anything: it had just taken a conversation.

"Have you ever stolen anything?" Oliver had asked as they rested on an asteroid.

"No," Percy had said. "It's unethical. What about you?"

"Only the hearts of my schooltime fans, as my teammates said once."

"Those teammates were my brothers," Percy had ignored the guilt that bubbled up as he thought about them, "and I've rarely heard them mean anything they said."

"Yeah, they later said they were lying. So no." Oliver had sighed, then added with a laugh, "It's like the blind leading the blind. "

Now, Percy was looking at the last of their food stores. Five days had passed since the conversation, and he was looking at their last two portions.

"We're all set," Oliver said, turning away from the console as Percy emerged from the adjoining room.

"Good." Percy handed Oliver one of the plates.

"How much food have we got left?"

Percy looked down uncomfortable, feeling Oliver's eyes on him. "This is it."

There was a silence, and he dared to look up. Oliver didn't look shocked—not _exactly_ —he was thinking. It was the same look Percy had seen in school while Oliver was preparing for a particularly difficult Quidditch game. Percy nibbled on his food.

Everything tasted slightly different in artificial gravity, and tasted further differed in different qualities of artificial gravity. Not that Percy had frequently experienced expensive artificial gravity. When humans had expanded to the stars in the 2600s, they'd taken their prejudices and elitist ways with them: though space travel had become commonplace as millenia passed, quality came with a price. A literal price—one Percy and Oliver couldn't afford.

Percy was used to going hungry. Not _used_ , though, not really, because his parents had always tried to put food on the table—but he had a morbid familiarity with an empty plate. Percy felt a pang of guilt as he thought of his parents. He'd _left_ them. And for what? A school friend copilot on a disastrous attempt at space pirating. A cheap spaceship and no money. No house, no food, no job. Dubious respect—he and Oliver had been friends once, but Percy had been different: reserved, uncaring and pompous at times, uncomfortable in his own skin and unrequited crush on Oliver and taking it out at the world.

Oliver was eating, and Percy wasn't talking. He'd learned not to put his foot in his mouth through years of social suicide.

"We need more food," Oliver said. "There should be some sort of trading planet nearby, we can get something there."

"We have no money."

"We'll trade something." Oliver shot him a confident grin. "When you're a broke Quidditch Reserve, you learn not to get attached to things."

.oOo.

The landing base was purple. Round, with lights on its perimeter that gave off a soft green glow, it dominated the indoor port: ships were landing, utility workers in grey jumpsuits were running around, and traders and visitors were bustling around their ships, guiding them and puffing out their chests to look impressive.

The dull but bustling atmosphere didn't match his hair. Funny how Percy thought of that first, but he was right: he was walking slightly behind Oliver, lankier than his friend, his bright red hair, dulled as it was by the purple and green lights, attracted attention like a beacon.

The rest of the planet outside the hangar was just as dim. Metallic houses stood out against the grassy landscape, and as they approached what looked like the main street, Percy saw open windows and chattering natives hanging out of them and haggling with traders.

"Let's try over there," Oliver said.

Percy followed. He had some bartering experience—he and his older brothers had accompanied their mother to the market on some days, and then had later taken over the chore—but it was different on a market far from home, and he let Oliver take the lead.

.oOo.

He'd made the wrong choice.

It was clear to Percy the moment Oliver walked away from one of the peddlers with empty hands and a guarded look in his eyes. Percy opened his mouth with a question, but Oliver grabbed his forearm and sped up. His fingers tightened over Percy's sleeve with every step, and Percy was ready to tear away and get his answers.

"Your silence scares me," he hissed; he'd wanted to yell, but Percy Weasley—even as an aspiring space pirate—did not lose control in public.

"They should be scaring you more," Oliver hissed back, and then he heard it.

Percy fought the urge to turn around and count how many people were following them. The footsteps were getting louder, dull thumps muted against the grassy street, and he knew that they were about to make an intimate acquaintance of their followers. If only they could get to the port… they wouldn't start a fight in a port, not with authorities and innocent people all around.

"What did you do?" he hissed, struggling not to break into a run to get farther from their followers.

"I think something got lost in translation," Oliver hissed back. "The big one thought I was hitting on his wife."

Percy surreptitiously looked back. "They're all big."

"I wasn't, though." Oliver sped up; the hangar was in sight. "You remember the gay rumors… the ones flying around our last year at school."

Percy nodded sharply. Oliver's words were tripping over each other as his voice became tenser. Just a bit more: he could see the detailing on the hangar door, a pattern of nails weaving through each other to form an intricate circle, the local name of the planet.

"Well, they're true. And I _wasn't_ hitting on her."

Oliver shoved Percy into the hangar first. Percy tripped over his feet on the hard floor, and it was only Oliver's vice-like grip on his arm that kept him standing. He tightened his glasses and stood up. They needed to get to the ship.

"If anything, I'd be hitting on you," Oliver continued as they picked up pace, dodging peddlers advertising their products and purchase-laden natives trying to leave the port. "I've always liked you."

"You're babbling!" Percy snapped.

Oliver had always done so: before matches, after exams, whenever Percy's brothers threatened a prank on him. Percy was not about to start truly listening, not when Oliver was saying exactly what he'd always wanted to hear.

The first shot rang out as Percy lifted his hand to press the button on his command strap that would open their ship.

No one screamed.

Everyone at the Ministry, despite their training to deal with threatening situations—they worked for the government, after all, to help people!—would have thrown themselves out of the way, covering their hides without a second care. Percy couldn't disagree with the instinct: getting out of the way seemed like a pretty good idea, especially considering that the shots were aimed at him.

A whirr and a flash of light were the harbingers of the laser weapon. Green, red, white lights; sparks when a misfire hit the metal wall of the hangar.

Percy grabbed Oliver's hand and ducked behind a textile trader's stand, narrowly missing a green light.

"Does the ship have shields?" he demanded as a pottery stand exploded nearby.

"What?"

"Does the ship have shields?"

"Shields?"

"Shields!"

"Shields! Yes!"

"Turn them on!"

Percy pulled Oliver behind the trader's ship, a red monstrosity that dominated the hangar. Its low belly deflected the shots aimed at their legs, until a ricochet nearly missed Oliver's ear and Percy had to pull him lower. He held on tight, ready to move again at a moment's notice—though not a Quidditch player like Oliver, his reflexes had been honed over the years to avoid his pranking brothers.

"Done!" Oliver yelled as another light flew past them.

Percy pressed the button.

Grabbing Oliver's hand again, Percy began to run. They'd parked beyond the red ship to avoid hitting it, but the large man Oliver had identified as the source of the fight was getting closer, his laser getting more accurate.

One more jump. Though the shields and into the main door to settle into the shapeless grey seats and leave—but the last thing Percy saw was a shower of sparks and the grated floor of the spaceship as he fell.

.oOo.

The ship's cheap power source shook the ship as it worked: the water in the pitcher in the dining area rippled, and the latest book Percy was reading was threatening to fall off the table beside his bed.

Percy picked it up and sighed. The shaking had caused the bookmark to fall out. "I really don't think we're built for this."

Oliver snorted. "What gave it away, the concussion or the fact that you're a Ministry worker and I'm a Quidditch player?"

"I quit, and as I remember, you're the one who agreed to come."

"That was when I thought you had some kind of a plan."

Though Oliver's words were light, Percy couldn't help but frown. "That's what I'm trying to run away from. Everyone's so busy expecting me to do all the work, they don't bother to think about my feelings. Well… that, and the Ministry isn't as concerned with making the world a better place as I thought."

"Everyone's just trying to get money and status?'

"Yeah."

"Quidditch is the same."

Percy nodded ruefully, but he hadn't expected anything different from the game humanity had developed from a combination of rugby, basketball, and jetpack races. "Want to quit, then?"

He didn't know what he'd do if Oliver agreed. Go back home, probably. Explain everything to his mum and let her coddle him; put up with his brothers' jokes and his father's disappointment; get a new job, far away from the Ministry, and pretend like he'd never tried to become a space pirate.

"Nah."

Percy looked up sharply. Without his glasses, which had broken when he fell, he couldn't see the details of Oliver's face—was he joking?

"Let's give it one more shot," Oliver said, and Percy heard a smile in his voice. "Get a job—a commision to pirate something… there's got to be things like that, right? Should be fun after I babbled out I liked you."

Percy laughed, finally making the connection. "Is that why you agreed to come with me?"

"Well…"

Percy smiled at the blurry mass that was Oliver; he could tell Oliver was looking down, his shoulders slumped, and offered his hand. "If it helps, I still have my embarrassing school crush on _you_."

It had been why he'd asked Oliver to come with him, after all.

"That helps, yeah." Oliver looked up, and entwined his fingers with Percy's. "Now let's get that space pirate job. We've got to buy you a new pair of glasses."


End file.
